


Dance Me To The End Of Love

by Kaiyou



Series: Weaving Life Verse [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Dancing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic, Post-breakup, background daisuga, background iwakage, fae, past Iwaoi - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-08 22:25:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8865694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaiyou/pseuds/Kaiyou
Summary: After breaking up with his lover Oikawa decides to take a vacation, running off to his best friend's pub to lick his wounds, graciously agreeing to watch the business while Suga takes a short vacation. One night he gets woken up by music, discovering the busboy dancing rather than cleaning up. A shared glance reveals unexpected secrets. What lies behind those golden eyes?





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lilserket](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilserket/gifts).



> This is a Christmas gift fic for @lilserket ^_^ part of the HQ Secret Santa 2016. It was inspired in part by The Civil Wars album Barton Hollow, especially "Dance Me To The End Of Love."

The sound of the music was what woke him up.

It was a gentle waltz, softer than the more rowdy songs that had been playing downstairs in the bar during business hours. A Plaintive voice in a minor key crooned words Oikawa didn’t understand. It tugged at him in a way that felt warm and comfortable even as he knew it was out of place. Glancing at his phone, he pursed his lips and pushed up from the couch where he’d fallen asleep, walking out of Suga-chan’s apartment and down the stairs.

It was his first time actually staying alone in Suga-chan’s apartment. He’d been picking up shifts tending the bar at Suga’s pub for a couple weeks now, but this week he was helping his old friend out by watching over everything while Suga went to visit his boyfriend. It was an easy gig - Sunday night had been relatively relaxed, with people from the community congregating at the bar to trade gossip and light conversation while a few couples took advantage of the dance floor or sampled their light menu. Friday and Saturday were rowdier, but even still, there was a warm, relaxed air among the patrons, most of whom were a bit older than the typical bar scene.

Suga always let his dishwasher clean up the restaurant after close. Oikawa wasn’t that familiar with him - he was quiet, kept to the back, and always had his fingers on some gaming device. How he got any dishes washed Oikawa didn’t know. No one complained, though, and it really wasn’t his place to reprimand the kid if Suga thought it was alright.

When he pushed open the back door to the pub and saw why the music was on, however, he was sorely tempted. 

The kid was there with push-broom in hand, swaying back and forth to the music. All the tables had been pushed to the side, and the only lights in the room came from the red and blue fairy-lights lining the top of the walls and the glow from the jukebox. Oikawa sighed and stepped into the main room, opening his mouth to call out and gently remind the guy - Kenma? - that they were closed and he probably needed to go home. Something stopped him.

It wouldn’t hurt to let him finish the song, would it?

Leaning against the door frame, Oikawa bit his bottom lip, watching as Kenma moved in a way that was almost unrecognizable. The beanie he always wore was nowhere to be seen, black-gold strands swaying from side to side as Kenma danced. The formless jacket he normally wore was laid out on the bar, revealing a body that was more lithe and muscular than Oikawa had expected. The way Kenma moved was mesmerizing. One song slid into another and Oikawa found he didn’t mind. The kid wasn’t his normal type - no, not kid. This wasn’t some youth growing into his bones, even if he was short. It was obvious from his motions that Kenma knew his body, knew and enjoyed every bend and twist, every tilt of surprisingly attractive hips. 

No. He couldn’t go there, even in thoughts. Things with Iwa-chan were bad. Over, a corner of his mind supplied, though another part firmly refused to believe it. Over or not, he was still in love with - something. Maybe just love.

The all-too-familiar ache clawed at his attention, made him notice the way the dust was swirling on the floor, gathering itself into a neat pile. Oikawa sucked in a breath. Magic? Kenma was using magic for such a small -

Kenma’s head whipped around and Oikawa saw his eyes for the first time.

Golden, glowing, slit like a cat. Kenma wasn’t just using magic, Kenma was -

Fear flashed in those eyes and the lights went off. Oikawa heard the broom clatter to the floor as he fumbled on the wall for the light switch. Harsh white light illuminated the room and he looked around, but Kenma was nowhere to be seen. 

What had just happened?

Tentatively, Oikawa stepped into the room, noting the dust still gathered in swirls near the edge of the floor. He bent over and reached for the broom, hesitating a moment before grasping it. No shock. No tingle of residual magic that he could tell - not that he was very good at that.

Not like -

But he wasn’t going to think about him, about them, not right now. Swallowing, he firmly pushed those thoughts out of his mind and focused on the problem at hand, noticing that the music was gone.

Well, of course it was gone. The jukebox was off.

The jukebox - if it was broken or damaged, Suga would - 

Oikawa rushed over to it, finding the switch to turn it on and sighing in relief. He traced his fingers over the buttons, wondering what album Kenma had been playing. The songs were hauntingly beautiful. The lyrics of the first song he’d heard were stuck in his head, but losing power had reset everything and he didn’t want to drive the music out of his head by listening to other songs in an attempt to find it. Maybe it was fae music. That would be appropriate, wouldn’t it? For Oikawa to be bewitched by a magical song after losing his boyfriend to -

Ex-boyfriend.

Ex-boyfriend who still cared for him deeply but wasn’t in love with him anymore, because he was in love with their brilliant, talented, genius -

I can’t help falling out of love with you.

The phrase from the last song that had been playing wormed its way up from his memory, making him tighten his fingers around the wood of the broom. It was sad, it hurt, and it was truer than he wanted to admit, for both of them. Sighing, he looked around.

Kenma was gone, well and truly gone, at least for now. It was just one more mystery, one more problem, and Oikawa was dead tired and missing his best friend. 

Well, both of them.

Suga wasn’t here, though. 

Sighing, Oikawa started sweeping up the last of the dust from the floor, missing the music. He even found himself humming along under his breath. He should probably tell Suga about this. At least about Kenma staying late, if not - should he tell Suga one of his employees was some sort of fae? Some being made of magic brought to life, hidden under a ratty beanie and a shapeless red jacket until everyone had gone home - no.

Picking up the jacket, Oikawa frowned. 

He didn’t want to tell Suga-chan any of it. Not about the music, or the dancing, or the fact that Oikawa ached for his childhood friend and lover, or about the fact that Kenma was magic. Kenma was -

Kenma was gone.

But he’d be back the next day, right?

And then, all of this could be like a moment of nothing, lost like a dream burned off in the light of day - with no proof but a formless red jacket that smelled vaguely of soapsuds and lightning.

~~~~~~

The jacket was gone the next morning.

Oikawa woke up and blinked at the chair where he’d laid it, shivering slightly. Had he dreamed the whole thing? It wasn’t something he’d ever done before. He wasn’t sure which was preferable, that he’d imagined everything or that someone - Kenma - had snuck into his room in Suga-chan’s apartment and taken it.

Maybe it was one of those charmed objects that returned to its owner at daybreak.

On the face of it, that was the most appealing option.

Sighing, he rolled out of bed and went to get ready. He figured he’d figure it out when Kenma came in later, maybe even talk to him. Maybe. Some fae didn’t like that, he was pretty sure, and Kenma had seemed shy.

Going down to get everything set up, he pondered what Kenma might be. He hadn’t exactly paid a lot of attention in his mystical beings class - well, at least for the more obscure types. He’d been far too distracted by Iwaizumi’s presence and absence, trying to figure out why the world was shifting beneath his feet. 

He hadn’t known then about the fact that Iwaizumi shared a class with Kageyama. Iwaizumi hadn’t told him. Had glossed over their history with the other man like it was nothing. Had gotten defensive about it when Oikawa had confronted him. Defensive enough that Oikawa began to suspect Iwaizumi wasn’t just keeping secrets because he knew of Oikawa’s dislike of the dark-haired genius.

Oikawa sometimes wondered - if he’d been a genius himself, would he have been able to predict what came next?

He wondered if Iwaizumi had even realized what was happening before it was too late. It wasn’t like he’d ever meant to hurt Oikawa, after all.

But good intentions - well.

All the moping and frustration about his breakup meant that it took Oikawa a while before he realized the glaring absence of one silent busboy. He asked the waitstaff about it, but none of them had seen him. No one had heard from him either. It was irritating. He could’ve at least called - 

Wait.

Did fae have phones?

Maybe he was just late.

It wasn’t until after the lunch rush that he began to get worried.

“What’s wrong?” Suga asked, voice crackly through the phone speaker when Oikawa called.

“Kenma - ah -”

“What did you do?”

Oikawa scowled at the phone. “What do you mean, what did I do?”

“I told you not to be mean to him!” Suga said.

“I wasn’t -” he hadn’t been - “he just didn’t show up to work today.”

“Oh. Well, Shit.”

There was some yelling in the background that Oikawa couldn’t really make out. Sugawara’s boyfriend wasn’t fond of cussing, from what he recalled. Didn’t like hot sauce, was allergic to shellfish, didn’t like cussing - sometimes Oikawa wondered how they even made it.

“Um, are you sure nothing happened?”

Frowning, Oikawa pondered that. He hadn’t done anything. He’d just - well. 

Thinking back on the night before, Oikawa thought about asking Suga if he knew that Kenma wasn’t - well - human.

It felt like a secret, though. Even if Kenma hadn’t said anything, Oikawa knew he seemed shy, shy enough to have run away without a word when shocked. If Sugawara didn’t know he was a magical creature - well.

Was it really Oikawa’s secret to tell?

He chewed his bottom lip as he thought, trying to push away the voices that complained about chapped skin. “It - well something small happened, but maybe he’s sick? Maybe he’ll be back tomorrow.”

“I hope so,” Suga said, worried now. “Wouldn’t want to have to come home - I mean I would do it, but -”

It made Oikawa wonder about the nature of Sugawara’s relationship with Kenma. Who came home just because their busboy got sick? Maybe Suga did know. Maybe there was more to the story.

Oikawa wanted to know everything. 

First, though, he had to reassure his best friend. “It’ll be fine. We’ll be fine. Don’t worry, I wasn’t - nothing really happened. You have fun with your Daichi, and we’ll take care of everything here, ok?”

“I guess,” Suga said, hesitation evident in his voice. “Just - be careful, ok? Kenma - he’s, ah, sensitive.”

“I gathered.”

A few words of reassurance later and Oikawa hung up the phone, steeling himself to go back out and help his bedraggled waitstaff to finish up. It looked like he’d be closing alone tonight.

Cleaning wasn’t as bad as he feared, though. Normally Oikawa disliked getting his hands dirty, but there was something almost soothing about wiping the tables down and making sure all the dishes were clean. His head waitress had taken pity on him and done the bathrooms before she left, and the cook did most of the work in the kitchen. There were only a few things he had to put up.

It was while he was putting everything perishable into the refrigerator that he got an idea.

Humming softly, he carried a bowl of milk out into the main room and set it on the bar. It was worth a shot, right? Not all fae liked milk, but he seemed to recall that several did, especially the household types. It could’ve been something he mixed up, of course. But it wouldn’t hurt anything.

Well, unless he spilled it.

Trying to remember if that brought bad luck, Oikawa picked up the broom and went over to the jukebox. He’d asked the waiters about the song. Most of them didn't have any idea, but the cook - a little blond girl with a nervous disposition - had recognized it almost immediately, so he punched it in.

There. That.

That was the tune that had haunted him all night, invading his dreams. Soft, melancholic, beautiful. He was almost like drinking the finest honeyed wine, sweet and bitter on his tongue. Smiling to himself, he began to sweep.

If he’d had the extra magic he might’ve tried using it like Kenma had. It wouldn't work the same way, of course. Oikawa’s magic had never been very strong. He’d just been good at figuring out how to use it, how to augment other people’s spells. Augment Iwaizumi’s spells, fine-tuning his raw power into an effective force.

Kageyama was probably twice as good as he’d been.

The thought soured in his stomach and he sighed as the song ended. 

“I’m not a cat.”

The words shocked Oikawa and he looked up, blinking. Kenma was sitting on the bar next to the bowl of milk, covered in his shapeless jacket. Relief shot through Oikawa at the sight and he had to hold back a smile.

Despite his words, Kenma looked more than interested in the bowl of milk. Maybe there was something to the idea he’d had after all.

“I figured you weren’t a cat,” Oikawa said. “You’re bigger than most of the cats I know.”

He wanted to give him a nickname because the look Kenma shot him was strangely cute. Not yet, though. Not yet.

Not when Kenma could disappear at any moment.

“Well, you should probably know more cats then,” Kenma muttered, picking up the bowl of milk and sniffing at it suspiciously. “Some can get big.”

Oikawa’s smile widened. “You can introduce me if you like.”

Kenma huffed and set the bowl down. 

For a moment Oikawa was worried he’d offended Kenma again, but he didn’t disappear. Instead, he looked down at his hands for a moment before saying, “You didn’t tell Suga about me.”

A heartbeat passed as Oikawa processed the words. How did he know? Not that it mattered. “It wasn’t my secret to tell,” he said.

Looking up, Kenma studied his face. His eyes were almost human at first, making it easy for Oikawa to see how he passed as human. Then the glamor started to fade.

It wasn’t just the eyes. Little things were different - cheekbones sharper, ears slightly more pointed. The eyes drew him back, though, brightening from amber to gold, pupils lengthening and resembling the cat Kenma claimed he wasn’t. For a moment, Kenma was all he could see, all he could think about. Even the background thoughts of Iwaizumi and Kageyama faded into nothingness, dropping out until those golden eyes blinked.

Kenma was closer. 

Oikawa wasn’t sure, at first, if he or Kenma had moved. Then he felt the counter under his hand and pulled back, apology springing to his lips. Glancing down, Kenma seemed almost amused.

“I like the song you were playing,” he murmured. “I like... music.”

Human music, he meant.

They’d had a seminar on fae music back in school, once. It was enthralling, the type of tune that could distract humans so thoroughly that they didn’t realize they’d been trapped in time until they came out having lost months of their lives. Not that fae did that anymore, of course. At least, not Seelie fae, and the Unseelie fae were supposed to be more concerned with their own internal politics than humans. Supposedly.

Still, Oikawa wasn’t sure why a fae would find human songs more interesting than their own.

“It’s simpler,” Kenma said, as if he’d read his mind. For a moment Oikawa was concerned he had read his mind, then Kenma scrunched up his nose. “Ah, more relaxing, I guess? And I like the melody. They say people used to kidnap human musicians to come play for the courts, before.”

“Maybe we both find each other enchanting?” Oikawa asked, pondering the notion until he caught the faint color in Kenma’s cheeks. “I meant - ah - humans and fae, not -”

Kenma nodded, looking down at his hands again. “Human things are... hmm. They make sense, sometimes. I prefer it?”

Sanctuary. Was this place his sanctuary? Oikawa was curious, wondered about what his life outside of here was like. “I didn’t mean to drive you away last night,” he said.

“I’m not used to being seen,” Kenma said softly. “I like being unnoticed. People - well, your people, and mine - they always want something when they notice you. Want you to be something, their version of you.”

That statement resonated somewhere deep inside of Oikawa, enough that he dropped his gaze from Kenma’s face to the wooden floor. He knew that need. If he was honest with himself, he’d spent most of his life trying to meet that need - figuring out what people wanted and pushing himself to achieve it, all while making things look easy. 

But all the effort in the world meant nothing when someone newer, shinier, and smarter came along.

“I wish - it’s easier when people don’t see you. Then you don’t have to worry about them wanting anything at all.”

Would it be easier that way? Oikawa leaned against the bar, frowning as he examined it. He liked being noticed, though. Liked the approval, the success. And those times when he’d been able to bring out other people’s gifts - make them shine - he liked that too. 

Pale fingers crept into his line of sight, Kenma’s hand inching closer to his on the edge of the bar. It stopped a few inches shy and hesitated, making Oikawa look up again.

“Do you want something?” Oikawa asked.

Kenma’s eyes widened and he pulled back, shoulders hunching as he shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said, looking away.

Oikawa considered him, taking advantage of this moment where the fae’s attention was turned away and studying his profile. He was delicately beautiful. Not feminine in any sense, no - in some respects he reminded Oikawa of Kunimi, though the nose was different, and there was a faint ethereal glow to Kenma’s skin. He was forced to admit to himself that it did make him want something of the other man.

It might’ve just been out of curiosity, though. Or perhaps it was Kenma’s nature, pulling him into a trance, like a silent siren’s song. 

Kenma’s eyes shifted to look at him for the briefest of moments, and Oikawa wondered if the curiosity went both ways.

“Were you surprised I didn’t ask Suga-chan about you?” Oikawa asked.

“Yes,” Kenma whispered, hands tucked around himself, disappearing in the folds of his jacket as he looked down. “Humans - most humans, anyway - they would’ve. Would’ve wanted to share the news with everyone.”

There was a touch of melancholy in the fae’s voice that made Oikawa think he’d experienced it before. It made him feel protective suddenly, an emotion he had no reason to feel for the man with black-gold hair. Still, it made him wonder - had someone betrayed him? Tried to expose him out of fear, or just for the attention? Maybe it was something more innocent, but whatever had happened, it had hurt Kenma. He found himself brushing the back of his hand against Kenma’s knee, a simple gesture.

Kenma looked at him. There was that moment again, the stretch of time where everything faded into the background. The touch had been impulsive, done out of a need to comfort. He worried it had been unwelcome and dropped his hand back to the bar.

Instead of tensing further though, Kenma relaxed, hands sliding back into his lap. “I had - when we were younger - I had a friend. Human child. I was hiding in the bushes outside a store one day, watching the people inside, and he startled me. I don’t think he really knew at first what I was. Children - well. The world is magical to them anyway, what’s one more thing?”

Oikawa nodded, watching as Kenma’s hands crept to his knees, fingers moving with the rhythm of the music. He could measure the distance between their hands in inches now. 

“I made him promise not to tell anyone about me, of course. I was his imaginary friend. I knew it was dangerous, but this kid - he knew all about the things I wanted to know, and he snuck out to visit me whenever he could. But one day some other kids were laughing at him, daring him to prove that his imaginary friend was real. I was waiting for him at our normal place. When all these people came with him, I was terrified. I didn’t know what to do. If it hadn’t been for - ah, another friend - well, human children can be cruel. Though not that I was any different, I suppose.”

Looking up at Kenma, Oikawa could see a faint touch of regret in his expression as he gazed into the distance. “What did you do?” he asked.

“I cursed him,” Kenma said. “Cursed him not to speak, because he’d spoken of things he’d promised to keep silent.”

It was all so matter of fact. Rules. The fae played by rules. If you broke the rules, there were often unforeseen consequences. Many of the articles he’d read said that they purposefully made the consequences harsh because they loved entrapping humans by their foibles, seeing human beings as nothing more than prey to gain amusement from. There was no amusement on Kenma’s face.

“Would you ever lift the curse?”

“Ah?” Kenma said, looking at him. “Oh, I did already. As soon as I could get back to see him, actually - everyone at home spent way too much time fussing at me and getting onto me for leaving, but eventually I was able to sneak away and find him. He was older. Wiser. Apologized for everything. Not out of fear, or because he wanted me to lift the curse - no, just because he felt like he’d done something wrong. I would’ve lifted it anyways. I think he’d grown used to being mute, though; he still only rarely talks.”

The flashes of emotion Oikawa could read from Kenma’s voice and face were fascinating. It was like watching light sparkle on a river as it flowed over well-worn rocks, with hints of fish darting from side to side in the depths. 

He wondered if this tale was meant as confession or warning. “I won’t do that to you,” he said, and it was true. 

Nodding, Kenma said, “Suga - Suga hasn’t either. I trust him.”

Trust me too, Oikawa wanted to say.

But he didn’t.

The surge of jealousy he felt was entirely irrational and unexpected. He examined it, wondering where it came from. Sugawara was one of his oldest and closest friends, someone who was always there for him. He obviously cared about Kenma, made a space for him here. He shouldn’t be jealous.

“Has he seen you dance?” Oikawa asked, throat catching on the unexpected words as the song changed, shifting to the tune that had brought him downstairs the night before.

Kenma’s eyes darkened from gold to something deeper, pupils widening like a cat in the dark. “No,” he said, the silence between them filled with the haunting lyrics. His hand slipped from his knee, hovering over top of Oikawa’s, tracing heat without touching.

There was danger here, Oikawa knew. Had been raised on stories that warned of becoming involved with fae, had read articles recounting the very real danger. Had heard from Kenma’s lips of how dangerous he could be. None of that seemed to matter, though.

He idly wondered if he was being reckless, wondered if his attraction to Kenma was because of some sort of natural enchantment the fae had cast on him.

The song changed, and he turned his hand, capturing the pale fingers in his own grasp and watching as Kenma’s lips opened in mild surprise.

“Dance with me?” he asked, breathing in time with the sway of the waltz.

Wordlessly Kenma slid off the counter and they moved to the center of the floor, beginning to dance.

Kenma dancing reminded him of water again, of trying to catch fish with bare hands. They touched each other only lightly, fingers pressed against fingers, hands resting on a waist or shoulder. Gentle pressure was all that was needed as Oikawa found himself leading the dance. The motions were automatic, steps learned and practiced for years that allowed him to get lost in the notes and in the depths of Kenma’s eyes. One song led to another, fingers sliding between fingers, his hand curling around Kenma’s back as Kenma’s slipped around his waist, breath matching the beat, breath matching breath.

Power thrummed beneath Kenma’s skin and danced around them as the next song shifted into something harder, darker. A part of him wanted to give himself over to that power. It tugged on him, called for surrender - but it was like a storm, and in the middle of the storm he saw Kenma, a part of the maelstrom and yet somehow held separate. 

Oikawa smiled, head tilting closer. For some reason, he was reminded of Tam Lin, of his lover Janet who held him through a thousand terrifying changes until she finally held his true form. There was no queen of the fairies here. No wild hunt to witness the way they danced. Still, he would not be seduced or terrified by the magic that made up Kenma’s essence, for it wasn’t the magic that held him enchanted.

A smile curled Kenma’s lips, and again Oikawa wondered if he was reading his mind or just reading him. It didn’t matter. The music shifted again and Oikawa mirrored his smile. The dance they slipped into was more playful, laughter bubbling up in the space between them as they turned and spun. No, it wasn’t the magic, at least not magic of any type he would have studied in school. It was the joy in Kenma’s eyes, the curve of his fingers as they pressed against Oikawa’s hand, the shift of his black-gold hair as they swayed. 

The music wound to a stop, and no song followed.

“I should go,” Kenma said, catching his breath as they stopped as well, caught up in each other’s arms.

Oikawa wanted to ask him to stay, but he didn’t.

“It’s getting late, and you still need to, ah,” Kenma said again, looking around. “Oh.”

Looking around himself, Oikawa saw that all the dust had been swept up while they danced, sitting nicely in the dustpan. “Oh,” he repeated.

A light flush colored Kenma’s cheeks when he looked back at him. He hadn’t known he was doing it? He hadn’t known. It amused Oikawa greatly. Amusement changed to something else as Kenma frowned. He wanted to smooth the little creases in the center of his forehead, tease at the bottom lip that pushed out from his face. 

“I should go,” Kenma repeated, glancing up at him.

Don’t go, Oikawa wanted to say.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he let Kenma slip like quicksilver out of his grasp, moving to the bar and picking up the bowl of milk. 

Turning back to Oikawa, he said, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I look forward to it,” Oikawa said, watching as Kenma nodded and slipped out through the back. Two thoughts struck him as the spell of Kenma’s presence faded. The first was that he hadn’t thought about Iwaizumi for what felt like hours.

The second was that there was no reason for Kenma to come in tomorrow because they were closed.

Perhaps he was distracted. Perhaps he forgot. Perhaps...

A bemused smile played on Oikawa’s lips as he finished cleaning up, the memory of Kenma in his arms filling all of his senses as he danced up the stairs and got ready for bed.

Illusory music played in his mind as he slipped between the sheets, haunting dreams of color and light.

~~~~~~~~~~

He woke to the sound of buttons, and soft video game music. Opening his eyes he stretched, bemused.

So that was what Kenma meant when he said he’d see him tomorrow.

In the back of his mind, Oikawa knew that it was slightly creepy to have someone watching him sleep, especially someone he’d just recently met. Kenma had slipped in, though, and it was evident he was far more focused on the video game in his hand than he was on Oikawa. 

He was curled up in the chair near Oikawa’s bed, his hair a bit messy It hid most of his face while he played. His jacket was tossed over the back of the chair - exactly where it should have been the morning before, Oikawa noted - leaving him in soft black pants and a light blue shirt. All that could be seen of his face was his lips, pursing in what looked to be concentration as he played.

His movements were so absolutely human it left Oikawa bemused. Kenma was full of paradoxes, a fae who seemed addicted to human things - human things and human spaces. Oikawa wasn’t sure what to make of it, other than to enjoy it as it was.

Some movement he made had Kenma looking up, golden eyes widening before he glanced down again. “I can leave if you want,” he murmured. “This is probably -”

“It’s fine,” Oikawa interrupted. Speaking made him worry, vaguely, about morning breath - morning breath and messy hair, things he had been terribly self-conscious about whenever Iwaizumi slept over.

Kenma didn’t make him feel self-conscious at all. He just made him feel conscious.

“I’m happy you’re here,” Oikawa said, hearing a bit of his normally flirtatious tone seeping into the words. That didn’t mean they weren’t true, though. Golden eyes glanced up again, studying him and somehow coming to the same conclusion before Kenma relaxed. 

“Good,” he said.

“How long have you been -”

“Ah, since sunrise,” Kenma murmured, looking back down at his game as he continued to play. “It woke the little ones, and that woke me today, because Ku - because ah, another friend is annoyed at me and left the window open so I’d hear them.”

The face Kenma made as he explained made Oikawa want to burst out laughing. He kept it down to a light smirk, sitting up and arranging the pillows behind him. “You live with children?”

“Ah, in a way,” Kenma replied, lips pursed. “Though these are more, ah. Well, not at all like human children. You’d actually probably do good with them, considering your magic.”

Oikawa blinked. “Considering my magic?”

“Well yes, because it's - wait, you do know, don’t you? I mean, humans study magic, don’t they?”

Carefully uncurling his fingers, Oikawa nodded. “I went to school for it, yes. I... I had a partner for a while, we were able to pull off some pretty incredible things. But it isn’t ...”

He didn’t want to admit to this man, this creature composed of magic, how weak his own magic was. How it was only because of practicing for hours on end that he was able to accomplish the feats others had cheered for. How he’d felt like a fraud when Kageyama came, with his terrifying precision and speed and all the things Oikawa worked so hard for.

“Your magic is unique,” Kenma said. He tilted his head to the side then pushed up from the chair, moving to stand next to the bed. “May I?”

Raising an eyebrow, Oikawa nodded, suddenly thankful it had been cold enough the night before that he’d slept in a light shirt. He watched as Kenma crawled onto the bed and sat cross-legged facing him, reaching a hand out toward him. 

It took a moment for him to realize that Kenma wanted his hand in return. Bemused, he laid his palm on top of Kenma’s, curious when the fae huffed and turned it over so that his palm was facing upward.

“Your magic, it’s like this,” Kenma said, pressing fingertips to Oikawa’s palm and then pulling them up into the air. 

Oikawa’s breath caught. Glowing green lines grew up to follow the path of his fingers - no, vines, he realized, or plants, branching out with delicate green leaves, curling like they were chasing Kenma’s fingertips. “That’s beautiful,” he whispered.

“It’s you.”

Startled, Oikawa realized it was. He could feel his magic seeping out of him without any conscious focus other than the pull of Kenma’s presence. “I’ve never seen it before,” he said. “Not like this.”

“I see things,” Kenma murmured. “Sometimes I can show them, too.”

For a few moments, Oikawa just watched as his magic grew, catching Kenma’s hand and coiling around his fingertips before sliding up his arm. Flowers budded and blossomed, painting his skin. A breath, two breaths, and he noticed that Kenma’s hand was trembling.

Oikawa looked up at his face. “Does this bother you?” he asked, concerned.

“Ah, it’s... a little difficult,” Kenma said. “And, ah -”

The blush that colored his cheeks made Oikawa aware of the intimacy of the connection. Sucking in a breath he took control of his magic again, carefully pulling it back inside. Leaves colored and fell, flowers burst and then faded away, both leaving smudges on Kenma’s skin as the vines withdrew back into his palm. He pulled his hand back into his lap. “Better?”

Kenma shrugged, looking down at his hands and rubbing idly at a spot of green fading on his arm. “I don’t mind, really.”

Oikawa nodded, leaning back and looking at the ceiling as he pressed his fingers together. “You make it look so pretty, Ken-chan,” he murmured. He’d never thought of his own magic as beautiful. It was, perhaps, why he worked so hard to make sure he himself was attractive - to charm people into being distracted from all his failings. Once in awhile, Iwaizumi would comment on it - call what he did useful, or powerful. More often he was complaining about the risks Oikawa took while practicing, especially after Kageyama came. But Kageyama’s magic was beautiful, even if it didn’t manifest visually. 

Kindaichi had called his magic beautiful once. Then again, Kindaichi hated Kageyama.

“Is that what you see when you look at me?” Oikawa finally asked.

“Ah,” Kenma said, “Not always. You’re subtle about how you use your magic - but that makes sense, all things considered. I see it sometimes when you’re dealing with customers, brightening their day. Or the way you encouraged that waiter after he dropped the tray. The cooks, too - and Suga. The morning after you got here - he felt more whole, and I could see traces of your magic weaving through him.”

“The morning after I got here?” Oikawa asked, frowning. He’d been such a wreck - sobbing to Suga on the phone, barely keeping himself together enough to be out in public as he traveled to the pub. Then Suga had taken off work early to console him, and they’d talked for hours - some about Suga, true, because Oikawa wasn’t actually an asshole who thought everything was about him, but mainly about Iwaizumi and Kageyama. “I didn’t do anything for him, though.”

“You did,” Kenma murmured, fingers reaching up to caress Oikawa’s face, thumb brushing away a tear that Oikawa hadn’t even known was about to drop. “You do. You care.”

“I don’t want to,” he whispered.

“I know.”

Looking up, Oikawa saw him mirrored in Kenma’s golden eyes. Maybe they both cared, cared too much, cared in ways that left them hurt and alone. “You’re beautiful,” he said, words honest because the loveliness in Kenma wasn’t just because he was ethereal and made of quiet grace, but because of the familiarity of the look in his eyes. 

Eyes that widened, fingers twitching against Oikawa’s cheek like Kenma wanted to pull away. He didn’t, though. Oikawa held his gaze and watched as breath entered Kenma’s lips, watched as he searched for hidden meanings in Oikawa’s words before concluding that they were just as they appeared.

“Thank you,” he said.

Oikawa smiled. He was tempted to press further, tease Kenma, find out the limits between what would make him laugh and what would make him almost leave. It was so easy to sit here with him. Safe, though he knew Kenma was powerful. He knew it was probably just the stirring of infatuation but -

Well, maybe not.

Kenma saw him, valued him for who he was - not his looks, or how amusing he could be. Something deeper, something more than that. “So you see me as a nurturer?” he asked, thinking back on their conversation. “I’m not sure I’d be that good with kids though, really.”

“Kids? Oh! Ah. They’re - well, they’re kinda like what you would think of as flowers. That’s why they wake up with the sun. Your magic is life-based, of a type that plant-based creatures respond to well? And it is nurturing, yes, but that’s only part of it, you know - there’s also the way you can influence crops, or heal communities, and then you can go offensive and sap the strength of others like you augment your allies. It’s rare as anything, but a very useful gift for humans to have. Didn’t you learn all this at your school? Ah, did I say something that upset you? You’re - wow.”

Kenma leaned back from him, eyes widening.

Upset? He was. He was upset. Emotional. Too emotional. “Sorry,” Oikawa muttered, pulling back in on himself. He was leaking power like he hadn’t in years. Kenma could see it. Some corner of his brain whispered that was why Kenma was now perched on the edge of the bed, eyes full of - was that fear? “Sorry, sorry, no, I’ve never -”

“You didn’t know,” Kenma whispered. 

Oikawa shook his head.

“At your school, they never told you?”

“Limited magical potential,” Oikawa said, visions of his grade school assessment report appearing in his mind. “Very low fire, medium water, low air, medium earth, nothing outstanding. Enough that I could actually cast spells and master them if I tried hard. I also had this quirk of being able to augment other people’s magic - that I did know about, but the rest...”

“Your teachers were idiots.”

There was a fierceness in Kenma’s voice that surprised Oikawa. He felt Kenma move closer, looked up to see his eyes almost blazing with light. 

“Are they the ones that hurt you?” he asked. “Are they the reason you cry when you think about your magic?”

Oikawa tried to deny it. It wasn’t them, it was - but suddenly everything seemed far much more complicated. He remembered how he’d shunned Kageyama’s desire to learn from him because of jealousy, the nights where Iwaizumi had ended up yelling at him for thinking he wasn’t enough just the way he was. It felt like he’d been fighting his whole life against something he could never beat, wanting things he could never have. Things he wasn’t worthy to have. Feeling like an imposter whenever he came close, no matter how much praise people gave him.

Pale hands slipped into his lap, grasping his own. Kenma was trembling, he noted. Short vines sprung up between his hands, uglier than before - twisted and thorned. One pricked Kenma’s skin. Horrified, Oikawa tried to pull away, but Kenma held on tight.

“It’s fine,” Kenma murmured. “It’s just - you just need more control, I think. They should’ve taught you. Should’ve known - stupid humans with their systems and rules. There’s more to magic than just those four elements.”

For some reason that made Oikawa want to laugh. He was one of those stupid humans, after all - but Kenma knew that. Knew, and was still holding his hands. 

The vines shifted, thorn changing into a flower that dropped honeyed liquid on the cut. Kenma sucked in a breath. That almost made him let go. Oikawa wondered about that, looked up into his face, but he missed whatever expression the fae might’ve had. 

“They’re all just different expressions of energy,” Kenma said, looking down at their hands. “It makes sense that your fire would be low; life magic that resonates with plants pulls mainly from strands that are also expressed in earth and water. Air and fire as well, but to a more limited degree. Other types of life magic lean more toward fire - beasts especially, beasts pull more fire and earth. Birds air and fire - that type is even rarer than yours, though another human friend of mine has it. He had a hard time in school too, though he was talking about going to the academy when I last saw him.”

“I hope he had more success than me,” Oikawa said. 

It was true and not true. In reality, he had been successful in school. Teachers had always praised him, and he’d made top marks, even if he had been restricted from some classes due to his lack of ability. He’d been popular with the students as well. 

And Iwaizumi - well.

That was a separate matter.

“Can I still be taught?” Oikawa asked. “Can I still - is it too late?”

Kenma blinked, fingers tightening. “Of course,” he said. “Why would it be too late?”

“Well I’m not a child anymore, and they always talked about how you ran the risk of losing your potential if you didn’t use it -”

“But you are using it. I told you. You use it all the time.”

“Oh.”

A soft laugh rose from Kenma’s chest. “You’re almost loud about it. It was a bit terrifying at first - especially when you caught me. I was afraid - well.”

“Afraid what?”

Kenma tilted his head and shot him a calculating look. Oikawa could almost see the gears turning in his head as he thought about what he was going to say. “Some humans hunt us,” he finally said.

“Alone?” Oikawa said, raising an eyebrow. He knew there were groups of enforcers that tried to enforce the treaties made so that fae didn’t prey on humans, but they were teams. Powerful teams.

Huffing, Kenma said, “You cut me with barely a thought, just because you were upset. Imagine what you could do if you were intentional.”

“Well, you could curse me, right? And I’ve never heard of a human being able to take out a fae one-on-one.”

“Most can’t.”

The words made Oikawa feel strange inside. He was so used to thinking of himself as relatively powerless where magic was concerned. He frowned, looking down at the patch of dried blood that marred the back of Kenma’s hand, transparent leaves brushing gently against it. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said.

“I know.”

Worry spread through Oikawa’s chest as he cradled Kenma’s hands, thumb shifting to brush against the spot he’d injured earlier. It was healed, either through Kenma’s magic or his own, but it still bothered him. 

The phone rang and Oikawa cursed, letting go with one hand so he could answer it. “Iwa-chan!” he said, lips curling into a fake smile that Iwaizumi couldn’t see. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

He heard Iwaizumi huff on the other end of the line. ‘Cut the crap, Shittykawa.’ That was what Iwaizumi should have said. Something normal, something familiar, something he’d said hundreds of times through all the years they’d known each other.

Instead, he just said, “I wanted to check up on you, Oikawa.”

Wrong. It felt so wrong. “Whatever do you mean? I’m doing great!”

“You’re such a - I’ve been really concerned about you, you know. I mean, I know you said to give you space, but the way you stormed out of here last week - is it so wrong for me to want to see how my best friend is doing?”

Laughter shattered like glass in Oikawa’s chest. Kenma pulled his hand out of his grasp and Oikawa looked at him apologetically, hoping that he hadn’t accidentally lashed out at him with his magic. Kenma didn’t look hurt, thank goodness. He looked worried. 

“Sorry,” Oikawa murmured to him, then turned back to the phone. “It’s really nice of you to check up on me, Iwa-chan, but I’m fine.”

“Who was that you - is there someone else with you? Is it Suga?”

“No, Suga-chan is visiting Daichi,” Oikawa said. Fingers were running up and down his arm, helping him to relax. It made him think water again - like a river running over stone, or moss maybe. The images distracted him from the minefield of hurt that came from trying to hold a conversation with Iwaizumi. 

“Who is Iwa-chan?” Kenma asked.

Oikawa looked at him, surprised for a moment until he realized the question was meant to be overheard. Was that jealousy in those golden eyes? Protectiveness, maybe. It made him wonder at Kenma, drew his attention away from the pain. “I’ll tell you later,’ he murmured. “Ah yes, it’s just a friend of mine, Iwa-chan. We were just sitting up here in bed, relaxing on our day off. So you see, I’m a bit busy!”

“In bed?” Iwaizumi asked.

Guilt flooded through Oikawa - guilt because he heard the edge of pain in his ex-lover’s voice, more guilt because he knew he’d dropped those words into the sentence in order to cause that pain. More guilt because it was almost like using Kenma to try and make Iwaizumi jealous, and he didn’t want to do that. Didn’t want to complicate whatever was growing between them.

The hand on his arm slid up and squeezed his shoulder. Oikawa looked at Kenma, tempted to lose himself in those eyes again. There was no judgment there. No anger. Just knowledge, and acceptance. 

Sighing, Oikawa said, “Yes, in bed.”

Iwaizumi was silent for a moment before he said, “Oh.”

The defeat in his voice hurt. Nevermind that he was the one who’d fallen in love with another man, nevermind that he was the one who’d broken things off - Oikawa still loved him and, on some level, probably always would. As much as he wanted Iwaizumi to feel all the hurt he’d caused, he never wanted to cause him harm. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“No, it’s -” Iwaizumi started, then paused. “I should’ve just texted or something. I’m sorry to interrupt. I hope - I hope whoever it is - well. I just hope you’re happy, Oikawa.”

“I know.”

There were tears sliding down his cheeks again, and he knew it. It made him want to hide, made him ashamed to be such a mess in front of Kenma - but then Kenma was crawling into his lap and holding him, making him choke up. 

“I’ll talk to you later, alright Iwa-chan?” he said.

“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi murmured, sighing. “You’d better, Shittykawa.”

That made Oikawa really laugh. “I will, I will,” he said, resting his head on Kenma’s shoulder. “Have a good day.”

“You too.”

Tossing his phone to the side Oikawa let himself sink into the comfort of Kenma’s embrace, shuddering as the pain was washed away by tears. “Sorry,” he murmured.

“It’s ok,” said Kenma.

“He’s - Iwa-chan is - we grew up together. He was my partner, in school. Lover, when we got old enough to know what it meant. Well, ex-lover.”

Kenma just nodded, hands patting Oikawa’s back in small soothing motions.

“We broke up, though. Heh. He dumped me. It’s why I’m here. Sugawara gave me a place to run away to, though I’m not needed there anymore.”

“I’m glad you’re here.”

Laughing, Oikawa said, “Really? So I can - what - be a big mess here? Not even a beautiful mess right now, look at me, crying like this, face getting splotchy, letting you know all my problems -”

Pulling back Kenma frowned at him. “You are beautiful,” he said, then crinkled his nose. “You are a mess too, but you just need untangling.”

“So I’m just having a really bad hair day?” Oikawa said, struck by the incongruity of it all.

Kenma tilted his head to the side, actually considering. “Yes. Your hair looks like crap. It’s worse than Kuroo’s, and that’s saying something.”

Oikawa gasped. “Mean! Who’s Kuroo?”

Chuckling, Kenma said, “Ah. Childhood friend.”

“Lover?”

The look on his face was like Kenma had bitten into something sour. “Not mine.”

It made Oikawa want to laugh. It made him want to kiss those twisted lips, just to know what Kenma tasted like. It was a ridiculous thought, a beautiful thought, a terribly unwise thought, so he didn’t.

Instead, he just said, “No one should be as good as you are.”

“I’m not good,” Kenma said, nose scrunching up even more. “No, seriously. I’m not. I’m selfish and greedy and lazy and -”

“And beautiful,” Oikawa interrupted, delighting in the flush that spread across the other’s cheeks. “And kind, and caring, and generous, and I think -”

He hesitated, trying to swallow the next few words.

“What?” Kenma asked, tilting his head to the side.

Sighing, Oikawa bit his bottom lip and said, “I think I may really like you.”

“Oh,” Kenma said, the spots of color on his cheek as he continued in a deadpan tone, “That’s too bad. I guess I’ll have to disappear now, leaving you in abject misery, pining after me for the rest of your days.”

The unexpectedness made Oikawa laugh hard, pulling Kenma to him and letting his fingers tease at Kenma’s sides, feeling joy bubble up through the cracks in his heart. “You’re so mean,” he whispered, turning to breath into Kenma’s black-gold hair. “I really do think I might, though. Like you.”

Kenma hugged him harder, nuzzling his neck. “I think you need to learn to like yourself,” he whispered.

That hurt, because it was true. “Can I do both?” Oikawa whispered back.

Taking a deep breath, Kenma gave a slow nod. “I hope so,” he murmured, the whisper of lips ghosting over Oikawa’s skin in a way that made him shiver.

“I hope so too.”

He smiled, hands ghosting up and down Kenma’s back, wonder chasing joy in a way that made him feel more at peace than he had in a long while. Kenma’s fingers echoed his, tracing patterns in his skin. He smelled like rain, like the ocean. Magic. He was holding magic in his hands, on his lap. Holding Kenma, this incredible being who loved human music and knew his magic better than he knew it himself. Amazing.

“Will you help me learn to use my magic?” he asked, breathing out to clear the hair from a patch of Kenma’s skin, delighting in the shiver he got in return.

“Yes,” Kenma whispered. “Ah, if you swear not to use it against me and mine.”

“I, ah,” Oikawa said, catching himself before he agreed to something that could be interpreted far too broadly. “Can we clarify the details of that promise?”

Kenma laughed. “I suppose, human,” he teased, lips pressing a smile against Oikawa’s neck. 

Taking a chance Oikawa nipped the skin in front of him before pulling back. The hazy look in Kenma’s eyes made him want to preen. “You wouldn’t want to take advantage of a poor defenseless human, would you?”

Eyes coming back into focus Kenma smirked. “And what if I do?”

Oh, this.

This was something he never even knew he’d wanted - something playful and gentle and teasing all wrapped into one. Something loving. If it was infatuation he was lost to it, lost and happy and wanting to know every hidden facet of this man in his arms. 

Resting his forehead against Kenma’s Oikawa said, “Well, I might just have to let myself fall prey to you then. Later.”

“Later,” Kenma agreed, fingers sliding up to gently stroke the back of Oikawa’s hair.

Later would be good. Later, when he wasn’t so caught up in the whirlwind of emotions. Later, when he could know that what he was doing wasn’t just a reaction to what Iwaizumi was doing with Kageyama. Later, when he knew how to feel and not accidentally hurt Kenma in the process, when he trusted himself enough to have what he wanted. 

Later.

Kenma shifted, kissing his cheeks where the tears had fallen, tongue lapping at his skin. Not a cat, indeed. It made him smile, and he relaxed, feeling lips pressed chastely against his own.

“Can we sleep now?” Kenma asked, and Oikawa nodded, lastitude sinking through his limbs.

“Yes,” he said. “Now.”

He could sleep here, curling himself around Kenma, letting himself relax in the bubble of safety they crafted between them. Hands cradled him close, music playing in his head at the touch. 

Kenma chuckled, and Oikawa realized he’d started humming the melody.

“Are we going to dance now?” Kenma asked, pressing lips against his forehead.

“I’d love for you to dance with me in my dreams,” Oikawa answered, tilting his head to capture those lips for another soft kiss.

“Who knew human beings could be so charming.”

“Just me,” Oikawa murmured, trying to stifle a yawn. “Only me.”

“Mmm, alright. Sweet dreams then, my dancer.”

Oikawa smiled, resting his head against Kenma’s chest and breathing in the fullness of his scent. Arms brushed over his back to the rhythm of waves, and he felt himself sinking deep, giving himself over to the darkness of sleep.

When he dreamed, his dreams were very sweet indeed.


End file.
